I am not sure where it came from, but the house has an infestation of sorts.
Sadly, there is no exterminator who can take care of this guest, it will have to resolve itself on its own.
The new houseguest is a “persona” that my ever more fracturing child has assumed.
Little Man’s new favorite alternate personal is Dale the Mouse.
Take that Fluffy the Big Fat Yellow Kitty
(Thing the Third)!
Not only has Little Man chosen a new favored persona, he has also chosen one that is younger and not fat.
That has to hurt.
Yes, it looks like Little Man might be the 3.75 year old version of Donald Trump (without the toupee and, sadly, without the income).
If he continues to trade down on age and size his next persona should be Felix the Mole, or
Brandon the Grasshopper. Eventually, when he is 13 his persona might be Chet the Amoeba.
Dale’s best friend is the plastic owl Franklin, forever altering the predator/prey relationship between owl and mouse that I learned about watching Marlon Perkins on Wild Kingdom. Sure, sure he has added some things to the mix. Dale is an imaginary persona that manifests itself when there is Soya Kaas mozerella style soy-cheese around (couldn't find a link, or I would have linked. I am not lazy, just unresourceful). That might alter the whole “prey” characteristics. Oh, and Franklin is a plastic owl, so the predator is not quite biologically motivated as well.
Dale has taken to want Franklin the Owl to play with him and watch him do stuff. Franklin seems to take great delight in being pushed down a slide only to have his momentum arrested by an ill-tended flower bed. He also seems to like being kicked while sitting at the end of the slide that Little Man… err… Dale is planning to slide down. Dale also wants the owl to be present whilst he poops and, more disturbingly, he wants Franklin to watch him sleep. Since we are a co-sleeping family, it can be a bit eerie to wake up and see the unblinking plastic eyes of Franklin staring at you… judging you… telling you to pick up the kni… where was I? Oh yes, the redefinition of predator/prey relationship that one would think existed between a plastic owl and a cheese eating 3.75 year old boy’s persona.
It is a bit bizarre to see a little boy running around in the back yard squeaking like a mouse while carrying a plastic owl that is the size of his torso… a little bizarre indeed. Well it doesn’t truly bizarre until the owl flies down the slide to the insane cackling of the little boy.
To recap:
French Vanilla is not all that it is cracked up to be
Who likes Celtic Lions?
I do, that's who
The Celts did crazy things with tongues and tails
At least in their art
I cannot say from a personal standpoint
Orapred, you are on my shit list.
You aren't # 1 on it.
That belongs to Little Man's Asthma.
And actually #2 on the list is his food allergies.
But you're up there. Beware.
(And thanks for keeping us out of the hospital)